London - at last (and at length...)

Dear You, 
while I want to tell you about my stay in London, I feel like her, above - trying to play this:

yes: all those titles in the shop "The Duke of Uke" are adapted for ukulele - I ask you: can you imagine AC/DC on ukulele??? 

My friends could, evidently...

(While they plunked they still had enough power to withhold me from entering the pub of the legendary Kray-Twins in East End - on the other side of the Duke - from where they schemed their criminal activities in London - the twins, I mean). 

They didn't know that I have a special guardian angel - you can find him in Tate Britain (where my journey started, after meeting my wonderful friend Trish. 

My angel and I - in close embrace we reach our ideal body weight, BMI alright, I feel sooo protected!
When I had enough from ukulele chirping, I went to get some real music: the Saatchi Gallery exhibited the Rolling Stones (and kindly gave me a special solo (!!) concert of Mick - wearing the offered 3-D-specs - gosh! was I happy that nobody else saw me with them - only Mick - looking quite wintery but vivid, and very tiny ("Hi, Mick - love your latest! - but I also love my High Heels!)

You say that my impressions of  "London - Part I"  seem a bit hazy?

That has nothing to do with the huge Craft Beer Festival in The Oval (Space) (which was a bit difficult to find - because there is another "Oval" near Vauxhall station - but I just followed those guys whose body-type seemed to indicate that they do love beer - real ale..).

Now, sweety, I'll give you a short rest.

After the weekend we'll meet again in wonderful, wonderful London. "Nice to meet you, hope you guess my name... uh, uh..." 

In case you should have forgotten - due to my long absence from blog-land - it's:

Britta xxx

We Are Beer

"Not commenting makes me feel guilt-stricken and nervy. I am prone to that." - this I found on Mise's blog. 
Yes! Yes! Yes! - or: Same! Same! Same! (Dropped the "H" nonchalantly after meeting some real Londoners). 
Because my guilty secret is: 
I am back from LONDON - and VIENNA - and have neither written nor read posts for almost 2 weeks after coming home. 

Though actually I had such a sensational heading:  "SUNBURN in LONDON!" (And never in my life I had a sunburn before - but at the Craft Beer Festival in The Oval Space it (almost) happened). 
Outside of course - above you see the inside - at the beginning - later you couldn't put a foot into it -- too many people, too much beer on the floor. But: fun. 
I will tell you of my adventures soon. 

But before that I have to negotiate a contract with London's tourist advertisement: 
at last (thanks, Google, tracing every step of mine!) they noticed that every time I come to England - 
                                the weather is exceptionally HOT. 
They want to book me now. 

Will I EVER Reach My Destiny?

Will I EVER reach my destiny? (Of course I know that I should speak of destination... :-)
These days you hear strange tones from my bow window room: I'm practising the pronunciation of some places. I knew about Leicester, Clapham and Greenwich - and a few more - but am still astonished how I ever I made it to "Ho-bun", "Tott-num" and "Marly-bone".



But then: my pronunciation is always a risky one ... n'est-ce pas, Tom? - on the other hand: it peps up my conversation, so mysterious...





 

A Madonnina for me

Dear You,
last Sunday I went to a little flea market in Berlin - and was vexed to see that I was late and them all packing up*. It was half past three - and at 4 pm they have to be off.
So I just did a hurried round - and then, at the very last stall, I found this little Italian madonna.
As I "collect" shop window mannequins with my camera, I saw that it resembles puppets that were made in the Forties or even earlier. She is tiny: about 25 cm height, 15 cm width - and has two impressed signatures, but I have to wait till my Italian friend Gloria, "la mia insegnante", comes back from her holidays in Italy to read what it is. I think there were lots of them in Italy at their time, and it will be nothing special. (I bought it for very little money - one advantage of coming late).
But I instantly fell in love: I love her aura - the expression of the faces is fine - and she exudes serenity.
I found a wonderful place for her on the wall of the bowfront of our flat.
And if someone thinks it a bit "kitschig" - I don't care!

 -

* PS: When I look at this sentence - the grammar - am I right to believe I should stop seeing "Ashes to Ashes" for a while, because glorious Mr. Gene Hunt's dialect dazzles my (broken) English?

...life is just a bowl of cherries...

...and if it isn't, I go to the market and buy some... draw them ... eat them... feel much better. 

And put on my blue sued shoes... 

... take a walk on the wild side through the Royal Park Charlottenburg, filled with bizarre flowers, 

meet a Cupid,   

and the Linden drone on and on that summer proceeds. 

Life is sweet, and all in all we have great choices. 

and when I look at all that bliss I have my head in the clouds again. 

Tired.

I'm a bit tired. I know: that is not a good way to start a post.
I don't write on my blog about politics. Which does not mean that I don't care.
When the Optimistic Existentialist asked in his last post: "Should we really lose faith?" I was on the optimistic side - and still am: I think life has not become worse. It was always tough (and sometimes very much more), but now it seems to the generation after WWII that it is nearer to our doorsteps.
I feel so deeply with the victims. Their next-of-kin.

Beautiful Monday - and Jonathan Spottiswoode

Dear You, 

I had a beautiful week-end, and I hope you too! A friend of mine, Jonathan Spottiswoode (half English, half American) and a friend from Hildesheim, Matti Müller (who has two other bands) gave two concerts here in Berlin - wonderful! 

Here is a taster from one CD that I love very much (I think I've already mentioned it before, but, as Mae West said: "Too much of a good thing can be wonderful", and: I really love Mondays). 

And if you are in London or New York: Jonathan often performs there. 

Shivering in Hull? (Warning to "very conservative children": Film will show painted naked people)

I just  read a book by Virginia Ironside, very amusing, about getting older (and the fun of it). Included is a chapter called: "Boring for Britain."
Now I found another hobby people can indulge in: Shivering for Britain.
See: I discovered an article in the Guardian: more than 3.ooo people in East Yorkshire this morning took part in an Art project in Hull, by photographer Spencer Tunick. Naked, their bodies were painted blue and green, (and maybe the the cold at 3 am has deepened the hue of blue?). One man, 80 now, is part of his installations for the 20th time.

"He said he did get a little chilly during the shoot, but added it was nothing compared to Tunick’s installation in Dublin in the summer of 2008. “That was frightening,” he said. “My children are very conservative. They don’t think it’s totally proper to have their father’s butt on a museum wall, but I love it.” Janssen said it will be the last time he takes part in one of Tunick’s works."  The Guardian 

Imagine: the shot took about 3 hours!

Change of Perspective

Sometimes you get stuck in a rut. (Or I, to be more precise).
Miss the forest for the trees.
After an exhibition on "Harry Graf Kessler - Flaneur through Modern Era" we needed a coffee. Harry was such a restless Dandy, knowing so many  people - Isadora Duncan, Josephine Baker, Henry van der Velde, Hugo von Hofmannsthal, Nietzsche, to name just a few. He connected people. Diaries of 10.000 pages - a man full of seemingly contradictions, political and cultural,
So we sat in front of Starbucks with full view of the Brandenburger Tor (between the columns tarpaulins - behind them the fan park for the European Football Championship) and the sun was shining like mad. No shade, no parasols.
But I wanted a coffee (so much that I even accepted Starbucks').
And so I changed perspective.
I had an umbrella in my handbag - and used it the Japanese way: saved!
I'd never expected that at this stage of my life I would often have to say: "...for the first time in my life!" Surprise! (though the whole last year sometimes teeth-gnashingly, wiping away a tear).
Voluntarily or not: after doing it I suddenly feel - vulnerable in a pleasant way, alive.
Side benefit: I see solutions. So I say:
"If you brexit, my friends - I'll change perspective. You leave - so I will come. In August."
Looking forward! Westward Ho!  

Solace

"for the young at heart". Everytime I think about age and growing older, I know where to go to when it really frightens me: I walk off those disagreable feelings by going for a stroll through the beautiful park of Schloss Charlottenburg.
And nature teaches me that everything is relative, and depends utterly on your point of view.
Here you see a Bald cypress in the middle of the photo.
And the very consoling text on a chart about it starts with the words:

"Despite its youthful age of only 225 years, ..."  

Ha, ain't that good news??

Countenance

Dear You, 
Can you see it?
At least in the shop windows of Germany there are more and more mannequins standing slumped (I can hear my late mother's voice: "Stand tall!" Not easy when you are 14 and 1.78m tall).
By now I know that standing tall is a wonderful way to look ten years younger - but the puppets don't need that, because then they would have to sit in a pram...
No, really: they crouch! I "collect" with my camera window mannequins for decades. And think about them.
For example: You have every reason on earth to be VERY worried if they change their expression from normal "haughty" ("Don't dare to enter this shop, you louse!")

to "smiling".
If they smile, economics will be very, very bad.
And now there are those sapless stooping ones.
The only interpretation I can think of:
most people nowadays walk and stare into their smartphone at the same time - "BUMP!!!" "Oh, sorry!" --- they bend their heads, even when standing somewhere (they might miss one of those ingenious super-special breathtaking news that drop in every second :-)
And the window puppets are always a mirror, mirror on the wall.

I can't control myself...

Susan Flett-Swiderski made me think of the Troggs (just can't control myself :-):
Happy week-end to all of you!

No Comment Moderation

Dear You , 
You might have noticed that I - quite unusual for my blog - had installed "comment moderation" for two days.
No - no vicious comments had come in - the only reason was that on my blog www.burstingwithhappiness.blogspot.com I had overlooked a helpful comment by Mr. Sackerson for quite a while - so sorry! And I thought that with comment moderation on I might be reminded of a new answer.
But I find it too inconvenient - so: everybody is free to say what he/she wants.
Without comment moderation -
and, as I know you all quite well: moderation will not be an issue :-)

Urban Sketchers

Dear You, 

A few weeks ago I bought an interesting book about Urban Sketchers.
Since then you find in my bag not only lipstick, handkerchief and comb, but also a little sketchbook and at least one pencil. I enjoy sitting on a bench and drawing what I see: it forces me to look more precise, and is a bit like meditation.
I draw the line with sketching people: I don't. Can't. Won't. (They tell you to do it when you sit in the underground - hahaha: I think you won't sit there unmolested very long. I wouldn't want to be sketched by other people either).
Same as with photographs: I often visit photo exhibitions, and of course I look interested at photos of people - often in black-and-white. But I wouldn't do it.
I see a lot of situations that would make good snap-shots. BUT I think it is impolite.
One has to respect everybody's private sphere, I think. And I mean everybody's.
I observed a tourist who went to the big fountain on the Wittenbergplatz where a young man sat hunched in an unnatural pose. Sunken, in a way. The tourist took out his smartphone, took a photo - and went away! I was shocked. Neared tentatively - I'm not a fool, I am urban-wise - but this young man might be sick - and was quite relieved that a heavily built Turk neared too. He touched the young man kindly, spoke two or three words with him - and then we looked at each other, relieved: the youngster only had drunk a bit too much.
I think that it is important to look at 'things' not only through a photolense - that reminds me of Andersen's fairy-tale about the snow queen who had that icy splinter in her heart/eye - but with compassion.
That puts everything into the right perspective, I think.
For drawing I just practise that: perspective.

The scent of Linden makes the bees pot-headed...

Dear You, 
first week of June over - and no entry here!
If you come to Berlin: this would be a perfect time. The Linden (lime) are openening their millions of little flowers, soak the warm (well: at the moment: very hot) air, make your head giddy, make your soul sing with joy, your whole being can bathe in it - gorgeous!
(You see: it really gets me too :-)
And for a day that might not be filled with that natural drug, yesterday I bought a reminder in a bottle: at "Frau Toni's" near Checkpoint Charly they produce a room-perfume "Linde". Normally I abstain from all these scented things for the house - but this is simply great.
(A month ago I found there a real perfume - for me to wear - which contains a lot of "violet". It was the favourite perfume of Marlene Dietrich. Violet is very difficult to get in Germany - I told you that I found a sufficiently nice whiff in my preferred perfume 'Balenciaga - Paris". And now I found out, that Serge Lutens, who works for Shiseido and on his own, has created a very deep violet perfume, too - but: he only (!!!) sells it in Paris, in his own shop.
So:
one good reason more to go to Paris.
On the other hand: I would feel becoming dangerously near to an excentric man, whom I truly and deeply despised when I was young: an arrogant dilettante cook, Wolfram Siebeck. In the early Eighties he wrote that he 'always hopped on a plane to Paris' - every time he needed the little "haricots verts" (those very slim beans, almost as slim as knitting needles) - not available in Germany then.
At that time, hearing it I thought furiously about lamp posts and 'cake for hungry people'-quotes, and revolution, (later my mother's blue blood diluted all that and made me more gentle).
I hope that there are thousands of other good reasons to go to Paris - as many and as intoxicating as the scent of lime-flowers.

My Balconysitter

Dear You, 
oh yes, I have one when I plan a travel: a balconysitter - and I am utterly glad about that!
See: Berlin has seen no rain for over a month. Trees are thirsty. And on my balcony - which is quite huge: 5 metres x 1.60m - there are lots and lots of flowering plants. One of my 5 roses has already opened three flowers:

Augusta Luise - not only beautiful, but with a luscious scent that makes you swoon!
I sit in the early morning there and drink my first cup of tea. And am reassured now, because the young guy will have time to water my flowers (I/he/the flowers need about 5 cans with 5 litre water per day). When I am in Budapest, it is a nice little job for him, and a godsend for me.

Above you see about half of my balcony. Time for a little mouthful? You're welcome! 

The World's Economy - explained with just two (blogs) cows

Dear You, 
at the moment - you feel it, with that hopping between my own blogs - I am a bit restless.
Might be the influence of spring?
I shouldn't do that. When a company gets too big, too much diversification makes everybody hectic and stressed, and one loses track of the real important things.
So back again to Berlin letters, solely - and http://burstingwithhappiness.blogspot.de/, of course - because that is quite a different cup of tea.
I'll drink that tea, calm down, and study the following very funny lesson in economics -

http://9gag.com/gag/aXXoWA6/the-world-s-economy-explained-with-just-two-cows

 with just two Blogs cows!             

"Rise and Shine" - Revisited.

As some of you have found out already, I have reanimated my blog "Rise and Shine!" - because at the moment I have so much work to do, that I just have time to scribble down a few impressions - without photos. Just to stay in contact with you and your blogs. 
(And to learn how to keep a text short!) Hope to see you.

High-flying

Dear You, 

I stare at the many posts of you that I have missed. So sorry!
I look out of the window and see that the swallows are back.
I swallow hard.
The last weeks were - wonderous. Unreal. Now it is time to land back on earth (a very appropriate metaphor - can you imagine that I - yes: I! - steered an airplane? A Cessna - and of course with a pilot at my side. It were some of the most glorious 20 minutes of my life - I love, love, love to fly (but will not start taking lessons).
And then I drove through the sunny countryside with a Jaguar Mark II - creamwhite and red leather seats.
Well - and now I'm back to everyday life.
Which is less uneventful at the moment, but beautiful and reassuring too.
The syringa starts to flower, enveloping whole streets into dark, beguiling deep lilac perfumes.
Reminds me of a poem by Gottfried Benn: 

Bar 

Lilac in lathy vases, 
hanging lamps, hushed light, 
and the Yanks go wild, 
when the singer speaks ... 

I have roughly translated the first stanza of this poem (1953) for you - the second one is a mixture of American and German, and maybe I will pluck up courage and translate it on my poetry blog www.burstingwithhappiness.blogspot.de.
Demands the same courage as to steer a plane...

"To swan" and "to front out" - Help please!

Dear You,
my silence - sorry - has to do with my work.
At the moment I am working on "New Tricks" (love it!) - and would appreciate your help to translate this:

Brian: "Listen, if we go in there now, we’re the ones breaking the law. The days of swanning into villains’ houses and fronting it out are over, Gerry.” Gerry: “Yeah. You’re right.” (Turns and enters). „I feel 30 years younger. Come on!“

I LOVE Gerry Standing! (Dennis Waterman).
And I understand what Brian says, but what exactly does "swanning/swaning into" mean? (I think: entering a house - without permission - with more than one person?)
And "fronting it out" - does it mean "to sit it out", if a Chief Superintendant tells you, that that was unlawful?
Thank you!

"Delight"

Dear You, 
when at the start of April suddenly all the many, many fountains of Berlin start to spring up again, you know - well - : it's spring!
Above you see the fountain at the Viktoria-Luise-Platz, two streets from our flat.
The Bavarian Quarter has so many fountains on what the builder/designer Haberland 1900 called 'adornment places' (Schmuckplätze), with banks and trees and flowers and green where people lie on. (Not me in April - can hear my mother still: "Don't lie on greens in months with an "R")
(Which reminds me of Rosemary & Thyme: "After eight months with you, I decided I would never again get romantically entangled with a man who pronounced both the r's in February. (...) She smiled as he silently mouthed the words two or three times.")
No, I promised you literature. So here it is: in his marvelous book "DELIGHT" J.B.Priestley mentioned it as the first of one-hundred-and-fourteen delights.

FOUNTAINS. I doubt if ever I saw one, even the smallest, without some tingling of delight. They enchant me in the daytime, when the sunlight ennobles their jets and sprays and turns their scattered drops into diamonds. They enchant me after dark when coloured lights are played on them, and the night rains emeralds, rubies, sapphires. And, best of all, when the last colour is whisked away, and there they are in a dazzling white glory!" 

(This is only the beginning of a fine description that becomes almost philosophical at the end).
And I will end with another photo of another near-by fountain, the Hirschbrunnen (deer-fountain) at the Rudolph-Wilde-Park:

Hi, I'm back from Bavaria!

Dear You, 
You might have noticed that I was (unusually) "silent" for a short time - no comments from me, sorry - but I was away.
And - being on blogspot and Facebook with my real name, I know better than announcing that I will travel for a week or two - because that might bring to life one of the hilarious advices in Rohan Candappa's "Little Book Of WRONG SHUI":

                                                 NICE TO SEE YOU
                                        Attract visitors to your home
                                        by placing stereo, video and
                                        computer equipment where it
                                          can be seen from the road.

So: everything OK, no burglary, thank God.
I visited Son and Daughter-in-Love in Bavaria - and it was marvellous! This time I took the aeroplane (and in Berlin they even searched me at the airport control for explosives - but that's fine with me) - because with the ICE I have to travel more than 8 hours.
And then I had the great joy to see DiL in action as judge (interesting!!) and son as prosecuting attorney (interesting!!).
The controls before entering the court were even more detailed than at the airport ("Good!", I say as a mother and mother-in-law). They took away my "back-combing comb" with the very long needle-like retractable metal handle (sounds like a description by Hyacinth Bucket), and put it into a safe (right they were!) Taking away a paper nail file might be OK... - but this comb is a real weapon - and nobody at any airport ever cared...
So: soon you will hear more.

Ah, and I am glad to welcome a new follower here on my blog!

Discrimination in Seat Allocation!

Today I jetted over to London. And was a bit shocked. When I wanted to buy tickets for a show in the West End, they told me that I cannot sit together with husband and son. I will be placed in the middle, husband and son have to sit in the last row. Reason: the seat allocation has changed: shorter people are placed at the front, with taller people towards the back.
That might be reasonable for tall people - so it is OK for husband (1.98m) and son (2.02m) - but I with 1.78m suddenly feel so horribly 'avarage'! I'd like to sue. (Discrimination and compensation for personal suffering).
 

Happy Easter! Buona Pasqua! Fröhliche Ostern!

Dear You, 
                                  Happy Easter! 
I told you that each Easter I draw or paint an egg. This year I choose a motive from Winnie-The-Pooh.
Pooh says:              "And that's that. What do we do next?"

Enjoy your holiday - whatever you do next!

Britta 

Rituals and Renoir

Dear You,
I love rituals. (As long as they don't become obsessive).
Sometimes you have to change them - your son has grown-up and stubbornly refuses to run around and collect hidden Easter-eggs in your garden, aggrivated by the fact that you don't have a garden anymore.
Then there are family traditions that the next generation continues (hurray!): the special Biedermeier-Korinthenbrot (currant bread) I baked for Easter is baked by our son in Bavaria now.  

Then there are rituals that stop because a person is no longer there. Very hard for the remaining ones. You have to invent something new, otherwise your heart may break. 

And then there are rituals that emerge by chance, or because you moved to another city. 

Since December I have that wonderful cinema-subscription, which I really use a lot. 

Every month on a Sunday at 11 o'clock they show a documentation about a painter. 

Today (Good Friday is an official holiday in Germany) I saw: 

"Exhibition on Screen - Barnes Foundation: Renoir - Revered and Despised." 

Very interesting - the "despised" refers to his late work, where he was obsessed with fat female buttoms (not utterly rare in old men :-). 

That he was all his life an awful convinced misogynist the critics had to tell me. Not that I care much - I look at his paintings, not the man. 

Well - and my new ritual is: 

after such a film documentation I go to the National Gallery (some days later). And look at the paintings they possess. They had one Goya. And they have three Renoirs (one photo from the catalogue you see above). 

And then I look with "different eyes". 

Nature's Jewellery

When I have time and the weather permits, I take the underground and soon arrive at Schloss Charlottenburg. Here I can walk through the beautiful Baroque Garden - the first in Germany, and copied from Versailles (I wrote about that in another blog post). And everytime I visit the little island, where, very hidden, you find the bust of Queen Luise of Prussia (1776 - 1810), wife of  King Wilhelm III.
Oh no, I'm not a "fan", far from it - though in her time she was so beloved by people that it was almost a cult - (you find justified critical voices too, one could discuss for hours) - but when I come to the bust I am only interested in the way some "fans" decorate her in accordance with the season. Above you see the "early spring-version" - here you see "summer":

Perfect Stairs

Yes - they do exist: perfect stairs! You can stride down in a majestic way - just in the middle of the red carpet, without having to look down anxiously or fumbling for the banister. You can hold your head up high and the imaginary train follows you lightly.
You find these stairs in Berlin's castles, or here in the photo in the Bode museum. Some are made from wood, some of marble
The steps are lower than in ordinary stairs - so the knees of old people would not ache, and the beautiful Ladies could make an exciting entrance.
I love to use them, very, very much - and I am angry with modern architects and builders: the knowledge how to do it is there - but greed and avarice hinders them to use such precious craftmanship.

Should I?

You should, articles in my free Facebook version of Psychology Today tell me, you should erase the word "should" from your mind - that would make life so much easier!

And this is the reason why I sit here in front of my computer (I should could do housekeeping instead, or finish my article on "Softly, Softly: Task Force Police" - but without the inner "should" I wouldn't. To me this "should" is at least as forceful as Mr. Barlow - not to speak of Chief Constable Arthur Cullen...) 

I was so happy that the BBC found - after many decades - quite a lot of the episodes and put them on DVD. I was a bit surprised when I saw it again - so very authoritarian, and the only female police constable so "fresh" and "girlish", that it made me wince. 

I was glad that PC Snow  (Terence Rigby) with his dog "Radar" was as gorgeous as I remembered him! 

Now I sit and think about Baden-Powell's quote of "Softly, softly, catchees monkey." 

Meaning: No flurry - it will work out with patience. 

Are they talking about good housekeeping? 

But for that I have to/ should/ must  will get up first! 

Say it with flowers (the Courtesan's Way)

As the weather is still cold and grey, my camellia sits on the balcony and sulks.
She wears cap and gloves, looks prim and tight lipped, and avoids eye-contact.
I say "Well, missus - than I will visit your sisters."
Meaning: I slip into the mollifying warmth of the conservatories of Berlin's Botanical Garden.

The tropical hothouses I shun: too damp and oppressive the heat there - no, I'm definitely not made for a tropic life, no Qui-hi! for me - but the camellias' hothouse is kept at a pleasant temperature.
Of course: Like master, like man (you can confidently use the female form here): my cammellia and I thrive on praise, so I will tell my homely friend neither of the tallness nor the sheer abundance of red, pink or white blossoms there - it might discourage us her.
Did you know that the great botanist Carl von Linné 1753 gave that plant its name after the Czech
Jesuit Georg Joseph Kamel (1661 - 1706)?

 

Camellias don't overpour you with scent - that's why Alexandre Dumas' "Lady of the Camellias" choose them (in real life she was Alphonsine Plessis) - and as most women she was multitasking: she wore a red camellia signaling her lovers: "Bad time - I'm menstruating" or white: "Hurray - the coast is clear!" 
Hope the weather permits my camellia to come out soon - being perfect the way we are, we walk on a confusing wild side.